Ruled by Secrecy
by Daianta
Summary: The world went to hell the minute Scott's secret was revealed. But working with the Argents to take down Peter has given Derek valuable insight. With the threat of war with a rival pack, the Beacon Hills tribe must learn to get along, but there's more to this story than meets the eye… Takes place after 1.11. Sterek, plus others.


**Ruled By Secrecy**

_KeenaCab/Daianta_

Hello. Um. Welcome to 'Ruled by Secrecy.' :) I have no rights to Teen Wolf, so don't assume you can sue me for this…

This is quite a long fanfiction, but I hope you and I stick it through to the end. Features Stiles/Derek, Jackson/Lydia, Scott/Allison, and Isaac/Erica. Maybe a dash of papa Stilinski and mama McCall. This is very plot-oriented, so don't expect smut. I can't write it. Maybe I can if reviews calling for it are high enough ;)

This is on here and on my AO3 account, under the pen name KeenaCab, hence why there are two author names. But they're both me. Anyway, on with the show!

* * *

Episode One - In pieces

_Suggested listening: _

_Shot in the Dark by Within Temptation_

_Monsters by Matchbook Romance_

_Great Release by LCD Soundsystem_

_Word Count: 3,014_

* * *

Allison is horrified; a hand over her mouth and her eyes wide. Scott can see tears forming in them. He growls, not wishing to see her in pain, but stills himself. He is the very thing she is shocked over.

After Chris and a friend drove their cars towards him, Scott had been forced to transform.

In another life, Scott would have spent the rest of his life with Allison. He can see, now, that it is not meant to be. He is a monster, even as he feels human. She would not wish to be with him from now on; that is clear as day.

Scott is unsure of what to do; Chris and the other hunters are approaching slowly, cautiously, guns half cocked. Allison has retreated into the corner of her seat on the bus, whimpering now and unsure of where to look – she can't bring herself to look at his werewolf form.

In the end, Scott runs, growling at the unfairness of it all. He hears Allison shout for her father to stop; the hunters are following suit but their speed is no match for a werewolf. Nonetheless, they still give chase. There's a sense of disquiet; he can hear the howl of Derek in the background of his mind but can't bring himself to respond. Right now, he wants isolation. He wants it all to end – Peter Hale, the hunters, Stiles, hell, even Allison; and especially this werewolf business. He wants everything to go away. He wants to be Scott McCall; the bright kid who sucks at lacrosse and suffers from asthma.

Instead, he's been given a sense of true freedom and simply chose to run from it.

He spurns himself on, losing the hunters on the outskirts of the woods. They are getting their bearings, knowing what and who he is. They may simply wait for his mom to get home and quiz her. He has specifically left her out; no doubt he has no need to drag her down with him.

Scott slows, mercifully, feeling his lungs struggle to keep up. The woods are silent around him. He can smell smoke, and fire, and blood. He can smell the adrenaline from the hunters who had followed his tail; wisps on the wind that his sensitive nose picks up with ease.

Derek, he realises, is not here. No doubt he is following the Alpha, Peter. Scott wants to follow, to get revenge and cure him of this horrific curse; but the urge to lie low is too great for him to resist. He can't go home; he can't bring that shit there. His mom would kill him for a start, and he can't. He just can't.

Frustrated tears leak from under his closed lids, as he strolls through the woods, hands slightly outstretched in the event he accidentally walks into a tree. Which he won't, since all his senses are improved by being a werewolf. But it's a human nature that can't be erased. Instinctive drift. No matter what new natures he's learnt by being a wolf, the human natures are the ones he comes to rely on.

When Scott opens his eyes, he knows where to go, and takes off running, lungs and body and heart feeling ready for the tasks that lay before him.

* * *

Stiles sits by the bed, the constant beep-beep of the monitor messing with his already frazzled brain. He's on edge; waiting for the moment the beeping stops. Because if she doesn't die, Lydia will be a werewolf. It pulls at his soul and his mind. He can't comprehend how much it's going to change her. She's a live-wire to begin with; having the additional werewolf powers will irrevocably change her whole outlook on life. Her outlook on Stiles.

He can't help but be pretentious. He knows Lydia will never care for him how she does Jackson; it's a fact of life that Stiles should accept but can't bring himself to. He knows once it's over, and damn, is this over.

He thinks that he loves her, but he can't be sure. There are feelings bubbling under his skin like a stream; about everything that's gone on.

Peter's attack on Lydia, while Stiles was running towards her, screaming, is ingrained on his mind. He knows he will have nightmares over the blood. It's not like his mother's death, but in the same way, it will haunt him.

He wonders where Derek was; if the other, remaining Hale could have been there to take care of it all. Derek feels like a too-small safety blanket; you know it won't be adequate protection but you wish for it all the same.

Vaguely, Stiles wonders if Jackson would still feel the same about Lydia after her turning. He's out on a quest to be a werewolf too, and if they are both – apparently – kindred spirits, then they may get back together. Because in werewolf packs, all you had was each other. Stiles had seen it, with Derek and Scott. They may have held a strong dislike for each other, not the same dislike Derek and Stiles shared, but they actively spent time with each other. They were all each other had. But Derek also spent time with Stiles, as did Scott; did that make him an honorary pack member? The joke between him and Scott was that he was the only human stupid enough to run with wolves. Or perhaps the sanest. Because while there are humans out in the world who lie, and steal and murder, wolf packs are open and honest with each other. Well, if it was a proper wolf pack.

But everyone has secrets, and Stiles can't help but think Derek is holding some important cards. Information, if you will, that he hasn't shared with anyone. Perhaps Peter knows. Perhaps there's a part to Peter that is causing him to follow Scott and his friends to divulge these secrets – but Stiles is dreaming aloud. Peter is following them because he has a sick and twisted agenda. And it scares Stiles, because he doesn't know what to do. Because he is a weak human in a sickly body who can't do very much. He can't fight Alpha werewolves or even beta or omega wolves; he can't protect the ones he loves.

It horrifies him, and something unusual writhes inside him, like a beast is trying to get free. Stiles wonders if he's going to be sick, even as he glances back down at a sleeping Lydia.

She has a tube up her nose and an IV in the back of her hand. There are sticky, white, circular pads on her chest, one on the inner part of her bicep. It's these that monitor her heartbeat, along with a tiny grey clip on her middle finger of her left hand.

He feels alone; the beep no longer comforting.

His dad has already come by to take a statement; Stiles is ever grateful because he doesn't know if he would be able to cope with someone else. Recounting it all to an almost-unknown person. He has his weaknesses, and death seems to be his.

But he still has this weird feeling in his chest; because he's looking at the transformation from a human to a werewolf, a supernatural being of the night.

He feels for her, in a strange way. There's something inside of him that's still writhing; he hates to see her in pain. He hates not knowing.

He taps his fingertips against his knee, kicking his foot up and down where it rests against his other knee. He will wait until she wakes, and will explain, calmly, that what's happened to her isn't normal but there are ways of coping.  
He knows she's an intellectual; at first she might not understand it but eventually she will, when she grows claws and changes form and eye colour.

His phone buzzes angrily in his pocket, and it shocks him. He almost leaps from the chair, exhaling sharply at the sudden noise. He's edgy, shivering with nervous energy. Every noise that comes his way is met with a sharp turn of the head and sharper eyes. He's not ready, even when he thinks he might be.

He sees from the caller ID it's Scott; he's half tempted to ignore the call for now and simply continue his vigil by Lydia's bedside. Because it's not clear if anyone else will come to see her.

However, something tells him to connect the call.

"Scott?"

Straight off the bat he can hear Scott crying; there's movement like he's walking through the woods, phone tucked tightly in his hand and clamped to his ear.

"_Stiles," _He half-whispers down the phone, and Stiles feels himself worry a little more. His voice is hoarse. "_She knows. Allison knows_."

Stiles feels his blood chill. Nervously, he licks his lips and takes a deep breath. If anyone had to be grounded, it had to be him. Down the phone, he can feel Scott's saddened energy, and he's close to the edge. Stiles has to be the voice of reason, otherwise Scott would do something so very, very stupid and no one would ever forgive him; Melissa, Allison, Stiles himself.

"Okay, breathe, Scott. Tell me what happened." He can also tell that Scott is still wolfed-out.

"_I went with Allison to get some privacy. We were by the buses. Then Allison's dad drives his car at me and I shift and Allison saw. And she's horrified and they were hunting me but I think I've lost them_._"_

He sounds really shaken.

"Crap. Do you need somewhere to go?"

"_No. I can't go home; I know they're going to wait for me. I'm gonna hide out at the abandoned railway."_

"Well going home _would_ be counterproductive. There are hunters and Peter's out there. Stay out of sight."

"_Well that was the plan,"_ Scott says drily, a hint of laughter.  
Stiles smiles; that was _his_ plan.

"_How's Lydia holding up?"_

"Not good. She's still not awake."

"_I see. Keep me posted."_

"Will do, man." Stiles replied, before hanging up the phone.

He shifts in his chair. The beeping halts for a second that feels like an hour, before re-starting. The constant beeps fill his mind and prevent him from breathing.

_Please, Lydia. Please, please wake up._

* * *

Jackson runs through the streets, searching the town fruitlessly for Derek. He knows just what the man is, and wants in on the action. The cuts that have not fully healed on the back of his neck flare in pain, in understanding. He wants to be like Scott; fierce, powerful. Always in control. Not just because Scott's become a better player than him, oh no; Jackson thinks he has some right that entitles him to lycanthropy in the same way Scott was given the right to be a part. The pain in his neck flares again, and it is almost comforting.

Jackson considers the pack mentality to be some kind of secret group. There has to be more of them, right? Scott and Derek can't be the only two.

Jackson knows that there is at least one more; if the incident at the video store was enough proof. He thought he was going crazy, but now that he knows there's more than meets the eye he's glad of it. Not that he would ever admit that, of course.

Should a part of him feel bad for letting Allison's father know Scott's true identity? He's not sure. He's blinded by rage and bloodlust and a need to understand something that's just out of reach of his hands. But he will know the truth. He will know power.

He flails into the woods, leading the winding path through thickets of bushes and lopsided trees. Derek lives out here, and Jackson wants to find him fast.

He's going to ask for the bite, and he's not going to leave until he gets it. Because when Jackson Whittemore wants something, he will damn get it. He's used to getting his own way; a spoilt brat in a near-adult's body. He doesn't care about the consequences; the thrill of power entices him step by step.

He hears movement behind him; whipping around nervously, he almost trips over his own feet but catches himself, the grace of a lacrosse player used to weaving through heavyset bodies.

"Who's there?" He shouts to the encroaching darkness, spinning again.

He's shocked when he turns and finds Derek standing in front of him; invading the teen's personal space. He hadn't heard him approach.  
The powers of a werewolf are enticing, Jackson thinks, as he takes a step back. The sheer power and _force_ emanating from Derek is stifling. Jackson understands Derek is an Alpha in his own right; he probably _is_ the Alpha. He's certainly someone who Scott takes the time to listen to, when Derek's not too busy tormenting Stiles Stilinski.

He's wondered about the pair, having seen brief, flashing images of them. He chooses to not worry too much. Stiles has no part to play in his life, and he ignored the fact that Stiles seemingly spent a lot of time with werewolves. Jackson would have been concerned that Stiles had been turned, but he is still as clumsy as ever. A being of nature would never be so left-footed.

"Jackson," Derek says, but it's certainly not a greeting.

Jackson's suddenly unsure of approaching Derek; seeing the feral gaze in the older man's eyes is enough to put anyone of lesser wills off. But this is Jackson Whittemore, co-captain of the lacrosse team. All-round badass.

"You know why I'm here. I want the bite." He's demanding, teeth flashing as he bares them, an unworried glint in his eye. The look of steel.

Derek begins to circle Jackson slowly, a predator sizing up prey. He looks at Jackson with his head cocked to one side.

"Why should I?"

"You did for Scott. What's he got that I don't?"

Derek tuts at that, stopping his lazy pacing and staring at the boy head on.

"You know I never turned Scott, right? Another wolf turned him. And he's a lot more… understanding than you are."

"I don't care. This is what I want."

"And if I give it to you, I want your unwavering loyalty to my pack."

"Yes. Whatever. Now hurry up." Jackson's beginning to shiver against the cold; Derek doesn't seem to be bothered.

"Promise." Derek taunts, voice tightening with the single word. His eyes narrow to slits as he takes a step closer, "Promise and I'll bite you right now."

Jackson leans his head back, out of reach of Derek, while his feet remain rooted to the spot.

"Promise." He whispers, and Derek is suddenly upon him. Jackson closes his eyes.

Teeth sink into his shoulder; the pain lances like fire through him, like immolation. He's not sure if he's ever experienced pain like it; it's worse than breaking a bone playing lacrosse. It's worse than the scratches at the back of his neck.

The pain spreads from the bite in waves, like poison is flowing through his system. All he knows, from careful research, is that the lycanthropy cells are passed from one to another via a bite; he doesn't know if it's saliva or a special sort of fluid that's secreted from the fangs. Almost like a snake bite.

But it's enough to convert his human cells into something more animalistic; something more twinned with nature than his dull, human body.

The pain peaks when Derek lets go of Jackson; the teen stumbles and falls hard on his ass.

Derek is relentless, and kneels before biting the same spot again.

This one feels different; the pain is a lot stronger, more concentrated. Before Jackson can comprehend what's happening, his vision is going blurry and he loses consciousness on the forest floor.

Derek takes a step back, finally relinquishing his tight grip on the teen. He's bitten him harder than he intended, and realises he's been acting out his anger in the wrong way. He can't help it. Being held captive in the Argent basement and electrocuted is top of his list of things that piss him off.

He steps over Jackson's prone body – sure to 'accidentally' kick him in the process – and silently wishes the teen would simply die. He begged too hard to become a werewolf, and Derek chose to follow his instincts than trust his feelings. He doesn't want Jackson to be turned, noting that he's a lone wolf that prefers solitude, but Lydia would be a perfect choice to sway his mind. Lydia can control Jackson, once she wakes.

Yes, Derek knows about that. Word travels fast when you have good hearing. He knows it was his uncle, Peter, and he longs to kill him.

Jackson promised. He would be bound by that promise to follow Derek, and the man looked forward to it. Not that he would bully Jackson, but he would certainly treat him as an inferior. If, on the off chance that Jackson's personality underwent a drastic transformation, he would certainly make a fine top Beta; more so than Scott, who could be rather passive when confronted.

He sets off at a brisk pace towards the town, mindful of keeping an eye out for hunters. He's a wanted man.

So he walks, beginning to search the streets for Peter while hunters and monsters roam alike. Scott is nowhere to be found, and Derek's not surprised. Stiles, too, is notably absent from the commotion, yet he's not surprised to learn from an ambulance attendee waiting outside the hospital that Stiles is inside with Lydia Martin. He can sense her change in the air, and smirks. One more joins his pack.

He takes off for the woods the other side of town, following the faint traces of Peter's scent and hoping he can get the showdown he wants. Because Derek suddenly wants to kill him _now_, and he will do so. Alone or with help.

In his books, Peter was a dead werewolf walking.


End file.
